The Prisoner Queen
by hrhrionastar
Summary: only child!Kahlan is tired of waiting for the Seeker to rescue the Midlands. But when Darken Rahl takes her prisoner, she must decide whether he and his people are really as evil as she's always believed. C/K, D/K, very AU.
1. Your Sex and Your Diamonds

**Characters**: (in order of appearance) Kahlan, Mother Confessor Serena, Darken, Cara, Denna, Jennsen, Shota, Richard, Zedd  
><strong>Pairings<strong>: Cara/Kahlan, Darken/Kahlan (implied Darken/Denna, Darken/Cara and Richard/Kahlan, in a way)

**Warnings**: torture, character death, dub con (and cruelty to an innocent river ;D)  
><strong>Summary<strong>: In an AU inspired by this amazing vid (/watch?v=oRbWKQrZeAM) only child!Kahlan is tired of waiting for the Seeker to rescue the Midlands. But when Darken Rahl takes her prisoner, she must decide whether he and his people are really as evil as she's always believed. Cara has never had cause to question her loyalty to the House of Rahl - until she meets the Confessor Kahlan Amnell. And Darken, victorious, has nothing to fear but the Seeker, and everyone knows he's dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Your Sex and Your Diamonds<strong>

_"Cowards die a thousand deaths. The valiant taste of death but once."_

"We couldn't afford to pay Rahl's taxes," the man said shakily. He was pale, and had the slightly saggy look of someone who had lost a lot of weight quickly. His wife's eyes were hollowed out as though she hadn't been sleeping, and Kahlan thought she'd never seen anything more heartbreaking than the hopelessness in their children's faces. "The soldiers took everything we had. They burned down the library where I w—used to work. We've been on the road for weeks. Please, Mother Confessor—help us."

Kahlan, overwhelmed with sympathy, would have promised anything—but it had been said that she was too softhearted.

"You may remain in Aydindril, at the Confessors' Palace, until you find some gainful employment," ruled Mother Confessor Serena. "I'm sure with time, you and your family can build a new home here in the city."

The petitioners bowed and retreated—but Kahlan didn't think they'd found the help they needed.

"Rahl ran those people out of their home," she raged that afternoon in council with her sister-Confessors. "And who knows how many others—they deserve something more than a place to stay. They deserve justice."

The other Confessors looked uncomfortable with Kahlan's vehemence—she knew they still saw her as an outsider. After her mother's death when she was little more than a baby, Kahlan's father had raised her to Confess anyone he asked her to, regardless of their guilt or innocence, and command them to obey him as they would her. Even among the Sisters of the Light who had at last come to her rescue, Kahlan had been an outcast.

Yet she still couldn't understand how her sister-Confessors could let their mistrust weigh with them when lives were at stake. She was sworn to protect the people of the Midlands, as were they all.

"Ours is not to seek justice against Darken Rahl, tyrant though he may be," Mother Confessor Serena said placidly. "We dispense judgment and wisdom among the people. And when the need is truly urgent, the Seeker of Truth _will_return and kill Darken Rahl, as is prophesied."

The other Confessors were nodding, looking relieved. Kahlan couldn't believe that they had all forgotten that the Seeker had been dead for almost twenty years, killed in the Brennidon Massacre, and that the First Wizard, who was the only person who could name another, had disappeared around the same time. But even if the Seeker did return, Kahlan knew it would be too late for so many of Rahl's victims.

Kahlan pushed back her chair and stood, her white gown falling gracefully around her ankles. In that moment, it felt as symbolic, if not as practical, as armor. "I'm not waiting around for some mythical hero to come to our rescue," she announced. "It's time we took the fight to Rahl."

"But the prophecy—" Alana, one of Kahlan's few friends among her sister-Confessors, protested. "How can you succeed? Rahl will kill you!"

"Maybe," Kahlan admitted, "but at least I won't have given up and _let_him destroy our homeland."

Alana, at least, looked faintly ashamed at this.

Kahlan waited, but none of the others moved to join her self-appointed quest. Did they underestimate Rahl's villainy, or were they afraid?

So be it—she had always been alone.

Kahlan left the council room, and later Aydindril, without once glancing back.

* * *

><p>In three years, Kahlan Amnell had turned a few pockets of disorganized resistance to Darken's rule into an army.<br>She was a formidable opponent, but inexperienced and too trusting; she would need to get up earlier in the morning than this to defeat Darken.

"The Confessor camps tonight at the Whispering Ford," the traitor said, licking his lips nervously. The other Confessors were dead or in hiding—somehow, Kahlan Amnell had become The Confessor. "The bulk of the army is still on the north side, but her tent has already been moved to the south side. My Lord. You can—"

Darken held up a hand. He really couldn't permit this peasant to give _him _advice on how to ambush the Confessor and her army.

"Thank you," he said, absently rubbing his lips with the second finger of his right hand. "You have been most helpful."

"My Lord!" the man babbled. "Anything, my Lord!"

Darken held out a hand, smiling, and the Confessor's traitor took it in what Darken recognized as half terror and half slavish gratitude.

Darken was still smiling, rather abstractedly, when he had finished slitting open the peasant's wrist with his jeweled dagger (dipped in poison for efficiency), and was holding the dying man's arm over an inkwell that a servant obligingly proffered.

_It's tonight,_ he wrote in the journeybook to Denna, his most prized Mord'Sith. _Be prepared for my signal._

* * *

><p>All went according to Lord Rahl's plan. Cara wasn't surprised: most things did.<p>

Soldiers had the Confessor's small camp on the south side of the Ford surrounded before anyone from the Resistance stirred.

The fight was short and brutal. Cara, assigned to Lord Rahl's person as floating staff (half bodyguard, one quarter assistant, and one quarter audience—Lord Rahl was rather theatrical), grew bored quickly.

Denna was across the river, leading Lord Rahl's forces against the rest of the Confessor's army; Cara guessed wistfully that Denna was having a lot more fun than she was.

At last, though, the Confessor was carried to where Lord Rahl and Cara waited. At first, Cara was surprised the woman wasn't still fighting even in the face of defeat, but as they approached, she saw the blood just above the plunging neckline of the Confessor's ghostly white dress. She was dead.

At Lord Rahl's signal, the men set the Confessor's body on the ground. Lord Rahl withdrew a Rada'Han from a pocket of his robes and fastened it around the Confessor's neck, and only then motioned to Cara.

At once, she dropped to her knees and bent over that limp form. The Confessor was eerily beautiful even in death, thick dark hair spread across the grass, pale limbs elegant as a sculpture.

Cara willed the Breath of Life to her lips, from where it dwelt in the calm center of her soul. For a moment, everything else—even Lord Rahl—fell away, and it was as though Cara and the Confessor, Kahlan Amnell, were the only two people in the world.

The Confessor was one of those rare people who didn't come instantly awake and alert when the Breath of Life was administered; her breasts rose with her first inhalation as her wound closed, leaving only a faint scar over her heart. The color returned to her cheeks, transforming her from cool, ghostly corpse to warm, living woman.

Cara never grew tired of the magic of bringing someone back to life. Still, with the Confessor it seemed different, as though it were happening for the first time.

The Confessor's eyes opened just as the first rays of dawning light broke through the treetops above.

* * *

><p>Kahlan surveyed the field of flowers before her with a strange sense of peace. Everything was tinged faintly with green, but she didn't need the almost subliminal reminder of the Underworld to know she was dead. She remembered everything, from her mother's death when she was far too little to understand why she must lose the loving care of both parents (for her father, unConfessed, had never again showed his love for her in either word or deed), to her ultimately unsuccessful campaign against the tyrannical Darken Rahl.<p>

But others would take up the fight; Kahlan knew her death would not be in vain. "I'm finished," she said aloud, breaking the peaceful silence.

_Not yet, Kahlan Amnell. _The voice was nowhere and everywhere at once. Kahlan thought she should be terrified, but fear was impossible in this place. _You are far from finished._

Suddenly, there was an insistent tugging through Kahlan's blood—she panicked as her soul was dragged back.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the ground, surrounded by her enemies. Darken Rahl and a blonde Mord'Sith were looking down at her unreadably.

Kahlan's first thought was an anguished regret for the lost peace of the Underworld. _He could have left me dead. I was done with all this, and he drags me back. Vindictive bastard._

* * *

><p>"You'll never get away with this," the Confessor raged. She'd recovered quickly from her brief sojourn in the Underworld, and now, despite the Rada'Han, it took several soldiers to restrain her.<p>

Darken had to choke back a laugh at her words; she knew as well as he did that his victory over her army would strike fear into the hearts of any who still dared oppose him.

All things considered, the rebellion to his just rule she had incited and led might in fact strengthen it—at least if everything went as Darken planned.

He waited for Denna's signal, ignoring the Confessor's vitriol behind him.

It had been easy enough to ensure none of the Confessor's forces across the Ford could come to her aid; the water bubbled angrily in response to Darken's loyal Mord'Sith's agiels. None of the Confessor's peasants, loyal or otherwise, had the strength or the courage to attempt to cross.

Traditionally, the Ford was supposed to whisper; Darken had made it scream.

At last, a great ball of fire rose from the opposite bank of the river, illuminating the scene of Darken's victory. The tattered remnants of the Confessor's army were disarmed and surrounded, under Denna's highly capable control.

Darken permitted himself a triumphant smirk.

Then he turned to the Confessor, who glared her defiance but remained silent. "As you can see," Darken said easily, for all the world as though they were conversing over tea back in the Palace, "your Resistance is futile. Your people are at my mercy. Surrender now, and I will spare their lives."

The Confessor raised her eyebrows, and Darken could almost see her thinking, asking herself why he would demand her surrender when she was restrained by a Rada'Han, weaponless and at his mercy herself.

He saw the moment she understood: if she humbled herself before him her army would never regain the courage it had taken to defy Darken in the first place. They would live, but how could they ever try again, when the Confessor who was both leader and symbol of their struggle had surrendered?

The Confessor let her eyes fall. "Very well," she whispered, and Darken exulted.

* * *

><p>Suicide was a sin, Kahlan reminded herself.<p>

After returning to the People's Palace, Darken Rahl had watched her with those impossibly expressionless eyes (she kept getting the feeling that, if only she could read him as she would anyone else, there would be a wealth of emotion and wickedness in those eyes), as his soldiers led her to the dungeon.

Now she was alone.

Kahlan ran one nail across her Rada'Han, eliciting a faint metallic clang. She was truly without hope now. But maybe Rahl would still kill her.

Hours later, Kahlan was awakened from an uneasy sleep by more silent soldiers, who took her to Rahl's study. It was a beautiful room, decorated with tapestries depicting famous battles and ancient heroes, a window seat where one could look down on the courtyard, and a heavy wooden desk that fairly screamed wealth and power.

Rahl dismissed all but two guards with a lazy wave of his hand, and Kahlan noted that he'd had time to bathe and rest since the battle with some jealousy.

"Sit down," he invited.

Kahlan didn't move.

One of the guards put a heavy hand on her shoulder. Perforce, Kahlan sat.

"I trust you have realized the hopelessness of opposing me," he said.

Kahlan thought about protesting that others would take her place, that no one was invincible, that when all else failed there was always the Seeker…but what would be the point? She was merely surprised he was talking at her instead of torturing her.

Encouraged, apparently, by her silence, he leaned forward. "Let me offer you another way of saving your beloved Midlands. Marry me, Kahlan Amnell."

For a moment, Kahlan just stared at him in blank shock. She had no power to resist the man at the moment—why would he offer her any control over the fate of the Midlands? Or was it another threat?

"Think of all we could achieve together," Rahl pressed. "The Midlands and D'Hara, united at last. The future is ours to share, Kahlan."

Kahlan's head was spinning. But he was right. She'd tried defeating Rahl by main force and failed; perhaps the Creator was trying to tell her to choose a different way. If she could convince Rahl to treat the Midlands as an allied nation rather than a territory to be conquered, might she not save far more lives than their war ever would?

As a Confessor, she had always known she could never marry for love, even had she found someone who inspired the emotion. Rahl was evil blacker than the Keeper's heart—and yet.

And yet what? Kahlan tried to chase the thought to its conclusion, but her own turbulent feelings prevented her.

"You will build orphanages for the children of the Resistance," Kahlan demanded. "And hospitals for the victims of the war."

Rahl regarded her gravely. "Very well," he said, and Kahlan was comforted, even though she knew she had no real way of determining whether he kept his word to her.

She took a deep breath, knowing her choice had been made since she woke in this new life. "Then…I will be your Queen."

* * *

><p>The Confessor—Kahlan, Darken reminded himself—was a puzzling mix of deference and defiance, hope and despair.<br>He saw their marriage as the crowning triumph of his reign, a symbolic beginning to his D'Haran Empire, expanded to include the Midlands…

A Confessor Queen, and more, a Confessor heir, would bring new magic and new vitality to D'Hara.

On a more personal note, Darken longed to complete his possession of her—physically, and, almost more important, emotionally. He didn't know what it was about her that made him desire Kahlan's good opinion, but when he broke her, it would be subtle, so subtle she never even saw it happen…and it would be a triumph indeed.

She would love him.

* * *

><p>Kahlan sank gratefully into the hot bath water. Ah, the virtues of cooperation.<p>

When she was clean, wrapped in a thick red robe and wringing droplets of water from her hair, Kahlan felt herself again for the first time since she had woken from death staring into her enemy's eyes.

He was a puzzling man—every move he made was so exquisitely calculated that it approached spontaneous from the other direction. He was handsomer than she had expected—not that such concerns ought to weigh with a Confessor.

Rada'Han or not, she could never forget her duty to her people. She only prayed this was the right thing to do. And yet she knew it was the only thing she_ could_do. Screaming at Rahl like a spoiled child would only make things worse. And he must know the exhaustive list of his crimes far more intimately than she did, anyway.

What worried Kahlan, she realized when Rahl came to escort her to dinner, dismissing the guards at the door of her new, locked, private rooms, was how easily she was slipping into thinking of herself as his future Queen, and how it made her heart beat faster to think of pitting her wits against his.

If nothing else, Darken Rahl was surely a worthy opponent.

They ate in silence at either end of a ridiculously long table, a Mord'Sith behind each of their chairs. Kahlan could feel their gaze on her, and shivered. A Confessor among Mord'Sith…she could not help but be on edge—they were her natural enemies.

The food was marvelous, of course, but Kahlan was still unnerved by Rahl's gaze, whenever she encountered it. She did not permit herself to let down her guard, but it cost her something to maintain.

At length, the excruciating meal was over, and Kahlan and Rahl repaired once more to his study. She did not quite dare ask him to escort her back to her rooms.

It was she who broke the long silence between them. "I thought you had me brought back from the dead only to torture me. What do you really want from me, Darken Rahl?"

She was seated across from him again, the desk between them, but this time they were quite alone. Nor could she get the memory of his bare arm under her fingers out of her mind. He was well muscled; no idle Lord who rested solely on the labors of slaves, Darken Rahl.

He was frowning. "Bringing you back only to torture you would be inefficient," he said firmly, and Kahlan wondered if she'd managed to offend him.

Well and good if she had; provoking him promised to be a fascinating, if risky, hobby.

Rahl looked up at her then, and he held Kahlan's eyes with an ease that sent shivers down her spine. "I want your understanding."

It was Kahlan's turn to frown. She had thought she understood Rahl perfectly well (he was a tyrant who took whatever he wanted without the least regard for other people), but now she wasn't so sure.

Didn't the mere fact that he wanted her understanding prove that he cared for more than his own gratification?

"This," he reached across the table to tap her Rada'Han, and Kahlan kept still with an effort, "does not become you. Let me just…"

He waved a hand in front of Kahlan's neck, and she shivered a little as she felt the Rada'Han change. Unconsciously, she leaned forward, her hands on the dark wood of the table.

"Do you think this makes a difference?" she asked, fingers exploring the new, more delicate and decorative metal of the Rada'Han. "Golden chains are chains still, Darken Rahl."

"I will make you my Queen," he said, and now Kahlan could no more tear her eyes from his than she could bring herself to commit suicide, if that was indeed her duty. "I will grant your people amnesty, I will give you peace…I can bring you more than gold."

He lifted one of Kahlan's hands and gently kissed her palm. She leaned forward, mesmerized.

He rose, not letting go of Kahlan's hands, and then he was on the same side of the desk as she was, terrifyingly close before she knew what was happening…

He kissed her other palm—just a light brush of his lips over her skin. It made Kahlan shiver—with fear, revulsion…desire.

She felt herself at the center of his attention, and it thrilled her against her will.

"I'm making it easy," Rahl purred, so softly that she might not have heard, if they hadn't been standing so close together. Kahlan couldn't even remember getting out of her chair.

"That's…" she said, voice breathy and low to match his, "what I'm afraid of."

Their lips met then, and Kahlan wondered if this was what the Creator had meant, when She said Kahlan was far from finished with life—death was surely the opposite of the desire sparking like lightning between Kahlan and her worst enemy.

Then she surrendered to the sensation of his lips against hers, his hands in her hair, the heat of him beneath the ridiculous robes he wore with such unassailable dignity…and thought no more of her duty.

* * *

><p>The Confessor's words rang in Cara's ears, even as she went about her daily tasks. It was not, thank the Creator, her duty to send out peaceful envoys to the far corners of the Midlands, assuring all and sundry that the war was truly over…<p>

Although there was talk of hunting down the other Confessors, and the witch of Agaden Reach, because Lord Rahl didn't believe in taking unnecessary chances.

Except when it came to Kahlan Amnell. Cara feared _she_wasn't seeing clearly there, either.

_Murderer, monster…how many have died for your vanity?_ the Confess—Kahlan Amnell had shouted, after Cara dragged her soul back from the Underworld. _How many children have you killed? How many orphans will never see their parents because of you?_

And then Lord Rahl had taken Kahlan Amnell, last real leader of the Resistance, back to the People's Palace, and so far subdued her that she said nothing during the shared dinner Cara and Denna witnessed…

Cara should not care how Lord Rahl broke the Confessor, the enemy he'd chosen to spare. How many people had she, Cara, broken—how many children were orphans because of_ her_?

Not that it mattered. Cara served the House of Rahl.

Nonetheless…she couldn't rid herself of this odd curiosity, this slight sorrow at the thought of someone so perfectly good and beautiful, as Kahlan Amnell being broken.

It was impossible not to seek her out.

* * *

><p>Alone in her rooms again the following morning, Kahlan sat curled in the center of a bed she hadn't slept in, one hand over her mouth.<p>

Last night had been…she had not expected to experience the loss of control irrevocably connected to the release of her power (and how strange it had felt, to meet the resistance of her Rada'Han…)

Rahl was a skilled and patient lover.

And yet nothing about that had been love.

Kahlan might never have experienced the emotion, but she was familiar enough with the concept, after years of hearing tales of woe from those she was sworn to help and protect.

Her feelings about Rahl were more turbulent than ever, and she missed the clean hatred she'd had for the man before she met him. Before he turned the full force of that magnetic personality on her.

But Kahlan was sure of one thing—her duty to help and protect her people hadn't changed, even if the method whereby she did it had.

If she could not reject utterly this new life, this new role as Rahl's future Queen…she would embrace it.

She stood quickly, ignoring the new soreness of her body, and strode to the door, determined to test the limits of her captivity.

The guards at Kahlan's door made no move to stop her from leaving, but fell into step behind her as she wandered the corridors. If the People's Palace was to be her new home, she must familiarize herself with it…

And if she were to be Rahl's Queen, she would need to know his people.

"Confessor." The low, sultry voice came from behind her, and against Kahlan's will she felt a stirring in her blood.

Kahlan didn't turn, but she heard the clatter of her guards' boots fading down the corridor, and knew the woman who spoke had dismissed them…the authority that implied, together with that liquid and seductive voice, told Kahlan the woman was a Mord'Sith.

Almost unconsciously, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "What do you mean by accosting me?" she asked coolly. "A Confessor is death to a Mord'Sith."

The woman was before her now, her fingers curled around the weapons sheathed at her waist, her green eyes hard and opaque to Kahlan's straining senses. Her hair was pulled back into a long blonde braid, swaying ever so slightly with every move she made.

"Likewise," the Mord'Sith said, "a Mord'Sith may be death to a Confessor—if she's so foolish as to wander the corridors without a proper escort."

Kahlan raised her eyebrows superciliously, in order to gain time to think. The Mord'Sith had dismissed her guards, who might be construed as a proper escort…and she had made no comment on the fact that Kahlan's powers were bound by a Rada'Han. At the moment, she was death to no one…and she wished fervently for her daggers.

"Is that any way to speak to your future Queen?" Kahlan asked haughtily. This Mord'Sith was trying to intimidate her…but she would find it a harder task than she anticipated. "I can make you pay for your insolence."

The Mord'Sith laughed, sudden and harsh. "How? You have no power, Kahlan Amnell. Are you really so blind that you can't see that Lord Rahl has taken everything from you? Your army, your freedom...and now your honor? You are a fool."

And so saying, she walked away before Kahlan could dismiss her.

Kahlan felt stung, and furious that the Mord'Sith had dared reproach her…and how had she known that Rahl and Kahlan had—last night—

Kahlan's fingers dropped to her hip, probing at the bruise left by a corner of Rahl's desk—the pain brought back memories that made her blush, even as her reason told her that hadn't been what the Mord'Sith had meant.

Her honor was an integral part of her, not something so easily lost. Her honor was contained in her duty to her people, her responsibilities as a Confessor, her worth as a child of the Creator…

The weight of her honor seemed to descend heavily on Kahlan's shoulders then, and she felt all the loneliness of her captivity, her helplessness, her weakness in giving Rahl what he wanted.

How could she have imagined, even for a moment, that he cared enough to protect her as more than a trophy of victory? How could she have forgotten that she was alone, in this, as in everything…

* * *

><p>Cara was furious with herself. What was she doing? Why should she care what Kahlan Amnell did or didn't do? (Save that by rights she ought to be plotting to assassinate Lord Rahl…if Cara's idiotic remarks inspired the Confessor to do so, she would be deeply shamed.)<p>

Resolutely, Cara tried to put Kahlan Amnell out of her mind.

Her efforts met with little success, and soon she was going out of her way to follow the Confessor, who seemed determined to explore every inch of the Palace.

Cara was behind a bookshelf in the library, peering between the second and third volumes of _Advanced Dragon Magic_, when the Confessor looked up from the open book in front of her and said cordially, "Good afternoon. If Rahl sent you to watch me, I don't mean to distract you, but otherwise you're welcome to join me."

A more complete shift in the Confessor's tone, and the content of her words, could hardly be imagined.

Stunned, Cara emerged from behind the bookcase and stood more or less to attention in front of the Confessor's desk.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," said the Confessor, tossing her dark curls back over her shoulder and offering her hand to Cara. "I'm Kahlan."

"I am Mistress Cara, of the Mord'Sith," Cara said proudly, to conceal her bemusement.

"Sit," the Confess—_Kahlan_, ordered.

Cara sat, across from Kahlan at the desk, and peered at the open book in front of her. What could Kahlan find so engrossing? Libraries, as a rule, were not places Cara frequented.

"You've been following me all week," Kahlan said. "Are you under orders, or have you been waiting for a chance to call me a fool again?"

She seemed calm, collected—and yet Cara detected the faintest hint of bitterness in her tone, and her eyes were hard. She was struck by a sudden and eerie resemblance between Lord Rahl and Kahlan—Lord Rahl was also at his friendliest when concealing anger.

Cara had been feeling ashamed, less by her words themselves than by her folly in speaking them, but now Kahlan's assumption of authority irritated her.

"You _are _a fool if you think a Mord'Sith would follow you for the sake of her own amusement," Cara asserted, in firm opposition to the evidence.

Kahlan put a hand to her forehead, and Cara was surprised by how tired she looked. (Not that she should have been, she reflected a little bitterly; Lord Rahl thrived on pain and sex the way most people did on food and sleep, and he'd been obsessed with Kahlan ever since her army defeated an entire D'Haran garrison at the Battle of Three Hills. In fact, Denna was starting to complain that this whole marriage thing might be turning him monogamous—saying innocently that_ she_hadn't noticed any such thing had been quite satisfying for Cara.)

"You were right," Kahlan said decisively, looking up and holding Cara's eyes with her own. "And you're the first person to have mentioned the word honor to me in weeks, certainly since I came to this place." Her disdain was evident in the faintly distasteful way she waved at their surroundings.

The engagement ring on her finger gleamed red to match the stone set in her Rada'Han; as further evidence of her capture by Lord Rahl, it seemed redundant.

She was beautiful, and more than beautiful; the despair that had formerly hung about her like a malevolent cloud was gone, to be replaced by a determination even more terrifying.

"Cara," Kahlan asked quietly, "will you help me?"

Staring into those deep blue eyes, it didn't even occur to Cara to ask with what. "It would be an honor," she said gravely, and was rewarded with a blinding smile—the first she'd ever seen on Kahlan's face.

Instantly, Cara knew she wanted more of Kahlan's smiles.


	2. Losing My Grip

**Characters**: (in order of appearance) Kahlan, Mother Confessor Serena, Darken, Cara, Denna, Jennsen, Shota, Richard, Zedd  
><strong>Pairings<strong>: Cara/Kahlan, Darken/Kahlan (implied Darken/Denna, Darken/Cara and Richard/Kahlan, in a way)

**Warnings**: torture, character death, dub con (and cruelty to an innocent river ;D)  
><strong>Summary<strong>: In an AU inspired by this amazing vid (/watch?v=oRbWKQrZeAM) only child!Kahlan is tired of waiting for the Seeker to rescue the Midlands. But when Darken Rahl takes her prisoner, she must decide whether he and his people are really as evil as she's always believed. Cara has never had cause to question her loyalty to the House of Rahl - until she meets the Confessor Kahlan Amnell. And Darken, victorious, has nothing to fear but the Seeker, and everyone knows he's dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Losing My Grip<strong>

Jennsen wasn't expecting company, so when the knock came on the door she was surprised.

She was more surprised when she opened it; the woman on the threshold didn't look that much older than she was, until Jennsen met her eyes, and shivered. Those eyes held the wisdom of age and terrible experience.

"Jennsen Rahl," the woman said gravely, "my name is Shota. I've come to find you because the Midlands—and the world—need your help. May I come in?"

Jennsen didn't know where to start, her objections were so numerous; nonetheless, she opened the door wider and gestured for her strange guest to enter.

The only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to regret this.

* * *

><p>Cara seemed surprised when Kahlan explained what she wanted; Kahlan guessed she had expected a melodramatic scheme to overthrow Darken Rahl, the tyrant who had conquered Kahlan's homeland and taken her captive, but she couldn't help feeling that would be impractical.<p>

First of all, by the time she could suborn enough people in the capitol of D'Hara to the cause of rebellion, Rahl might successfully convince her to abandon her principles (only Cara's timely words had prevented this from happening already).

And secondly…"I raised an army to defeat Rahl," Kahlan reminded Cara. "It didn't work. The Mother Confessor claimed only the Seeker can kill him, and anyway I think most of the people in the Midlands are tired of war."

Thirdly, of course, if Kahlan did have a plan to kill Darken Rahl, she would hardly confide it to Cara, who was a Mord'Sith; expecting Cara to betray her own honor by helping Kahlan bring harm to the Lord Rahl she was sworn to serve was as wrong as it would be for Kahlan to forget her own duty to her people, merely because Rahl offered her security and power as his Queen (to say nothing of the pleasure she guiltily found in his embraces).

Fourthly, and most secretly, Kahlan was fairly certain she was pregnant. Not that such a consideration would weigh with her in fulfilling her duty to the Midlands and killing Darken Rahl if she thought it would work, but she doubted she would survive long under those circumstances…and she had no desire to raise her daughter in a land still torn apart by war.

"So you want me to help you devise a new set of laws for the D'Haran Empire based on the Code of Aydindril and the precedents laid down by previous Rahls, and convince Lord Rahl to adopt it?" Cara asked, in a just-the-facts-ma'am tone.

"Why not?" Kahlan asked brightly. "Did you have something better to do?"

She took Cara's hands in hers as she spoke, not sure why she was so convinced that she'd found an ally.

A Mord'Sith was a Confessor's natural enemy—and yet Cara was the only person Kahlan could talk to in this Palace with any sort of honesty. Every remark she and Rahl made to one another was fraught with hidden meaning and obscure threat, even something as simple as a comment on the weather. And no one else would talk to Kahlan at all.

Cara's fingers twitched in Kahlan's, the leather of her gloves smooth against Kahlan's skin, but she didn't pull away.

"I'll help you with the parchmentwork," Cara said slowly, "if you let me help you with something else."

Kahlan's heart beat faster, because Cara was smiling at her in a way that made her feel weak and strong at the same time.

"What?" she asked, leaning forward just slightly. She saw Cara's eyes track the way this shifted her bodice downward, and felt a thrill of power.

Obviously, Darken Rahl was a bad influence on her.

"Lord Rahl is going to take some convincing," Cara said. She licked her lips, and Kahlan's answering smile was, she feared, anything but innocent. "I could teach you how to please him."

For a split second, Kahlan thought about taking this as an insult; but the invitation was too fascinating to turn down, no matter how much Rahl seemed to enjoy their trysts.

"As you wish," Kahlan said, and Cara grinned lasciviously.

* * *

><p>Kahlan was nervous, and Cara remembered that Confessors had that problem with intimacy…she was lucky Kahlan's powers were bound with a Rada'Han, and yet she felt wistfully that seeing Kahlan at the height of that power, making her lose control, would be worth a little risk.<p>

Cara licked her lips, a little nervous herself. Kahlan's courage, Kahlan's sheer goodness, were so unusual—this was unlike anything Cara had ever done before, because with Kahlan it meant something…something special.

"Rahl likes it when I bite his lip," Kahlan offered slyly, stepping closer to Cara.

Her hips swayed enticingly, and Cara let her hands rest on Kahlan's waist, and brushed her lips against Kahlan's.

True to her promise, Kahlan nibbled gently at Cara's bottom lip with her teeth.

Cara could no longer restrain herself; she deepened the kiss, pulling Kahlan closer so their bodies were pressed together, and burying one hand in Kahlan's glorious hair…this was even better than waking Kahlan with the Breath of Life had been—it made Cara feel powerful and almost awed, and more than ever convinced that breaking Kahlan would be a crime more heinous than most on her record.

"Mmm," Kahlan moaned, and then, "Ow!" in a completely different tone.

Cara stepped back, confused, and Kahlan gestured to the agiels sheathed at her hips. Rolling her eyes at her own folly, Cara set them down on a side table, and then Kahlan was kissing her again, and somehow they were falling together backward onto the bed…

* * *

><p>Much later, Cara lay in Kahlan's arms while the Confessor pulled a lock of her blonde hair repetitively through her fingers. Cara's hair, unbraided, was ridiculously long and inconvenient, but Kahlan's fingers running through it felt too good for Cara to move.<p>

Nonetheless…"Mord'Sith do not cuddle," Cara said firmly.

"Mm-hm," Kahlan agreed, sounding amused.

"I never did get around to much instruction," Cara mused after a moment. "You're obviously a natural."

At that, Kahlan did laugh. "Thank you," she said warmly. "Cara…_thank you_."

Her voice was different now, and Cara wanted to run from the sheer emotion in it.

"For what?" she asked instead.

"You give me hope," Kahlan explained. "I never thought I could survive this place—I'm still not sure—but if you help me, maybe I can wrest victory from defeat."

Cara was silent, thinking. She had her doubts about Kahlan's plan to convince Lord Rahl to adopt a proper legal system—although as long as _he_were still above it, he might consent—and she wasn't sure what could possibly constitute a victory for Kahlan, after she'd fought Lord Rahl with all the strength the Midlands could muster and lost, but if anyone could turn ignominious captivity into a triumph of reason and peace for all, it was surely Kahlan.

How could Kahlan not want her freedom back? She was the most extraordinary person Cara had ever met. Unless this was some sort of deeper scheme, like the kind Lord Rahl was always concocting…thinking of Lord Rahl brought other things to the surface of Cara's mind; Kahlan was his betrothed.

"You're asking one slave to the House of Rahl to rescue another," she commented drily.

Kahlan's fingers ceased their gentle stroking through Cara's hair, and she pulled herself up onto one elbow, frowning. "Slave?" she asked.

Cara looked away. "I'm not ashamed of who I am."

"I," Kahlan said firmly, "am _not_a slave. I am a prisoner."

And Cara, by tradition, by duty, by everything, was surely one of her jailors.

All this was getting too complicated for her, Cara felt. And yet she could regret nothing that had led her to this point, lying cuddled in bed next to Kahlan Amnell, Confessor and Lord Rahl's worst enemy and affianced bride…

Although she did have cause later to regret that they had chosen Kahlan's rooms—Kahlan's _guarded_ rooms—for their 'lesson.'

* * *

><p>Jennsen didn't even see the Boundary Shota had described in such detail, but she noted the patrols of D'Haran soldiers, and where the tracks of their horses stopped.<p>

She waited until they were far enough away that they probably wouldn't notice her, before clambering up a sand dune and setting out across the beach, past the soldiers' tracks, on and on…

She didn't turn around, and no one called out or started in pursuit.

It was eerily easy.

But if Shota was right, it was the last thing about Jennsen's mission that would be less than heartbreakingly difficult.

She was to find the First Wizard, Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander…her grandfather. The Seeker she sought, and whom only the First Wizard could name, was her brother. She had to bring them back through the Boundary somehow, so that the Seeker could fulfill his destiny and kill the tyrant Darken Rahl.

Darken Rahl, her mother had tearfully confessed, was Jennsen's half-brother. This made her even more reluctant than she already had been to plot his death—she had been raised to believe murder was wrong, and she couldn't imagine there was any reason so compelling as to justify it.

That had been before Shota told her, in exhaustive and terrifying detail, of the Brennidon Massacre (her mother had cried the hardest then); of a thousand lesser crimes, most of them murder; of the people driven starving and homeless from their villages; of Kahlan Amnell, the Confessor and the last hope of the Midlands (save the Seeker), and her valiant attempt to rid the world of 'the foulest tyrant ever to draw breath,' and her subsequent imprisonment (Jennsen had heard, of course, of the marriage that was to cement the peace, but she'd never thought about how horrible it must be for the Confessor to be so entrapped); of the Mord'Sith still sweeping the countryside looking for the other Confessors, and for Shota herself.

Jennsen could not refuse her help when so many were depending on her.

But she resolved not to tell the Seeker that he, too, was Darken Rahl's brother.

* * *

><p>"Are you certain of this?" Lord Rahl's voice was deceptively calm, but Denna could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, even turned away from her as he was.<p>

"I saw them together," Denna said, relishing the words, and their truth. She never would have thought of this herself, but if she had it would have made the perfect lie—anything to wean Lord Rahl from his obsession with the Confessor. "Cara has betrayed you."

Lord Rahl met her eyes then, and Denna saw amusement as well as anger in them. "An understandable temptation," he said. "But I don't like it when others touch what belongs to _me_."

Denna could not understand why he cared so much for the Confessor. She was nothing—an enemy who should have been dead, who would have been but for Lord Rahl's inexplicable order to have her revived. And now he was marrying her—why? Was she really so special?

"I will deal with Cara," Lord Rahl said dismissively.

Denna could not let this go so easily, however. She licked her lips nervously, but kept her hands clasped behind her back and her spine straight. "My Lord," she said, "there's more—they were plotting against you. They talked of obtaining victory from defeat…Cara means to help the Confessor destroy you."

Now he was truly angry, but Denna could only see it because she had spent what felt like a lifetime studying Lord Rahl. "How _dare_she—!" he whispered, turning away.

Denna could not tell which betrayal stung him more, Cara's or the Confessor's. Had she been a different woman, had she not been a Mord'Sith, she would have reached out a hand to comfort him.

But all she could do was beg to be allowed to deal with her Lord's enemies as they deserved. "Let me punish her, my Lord," she said quietly. "Let me punish both of them."

"Both?" he asked, surprised. "Why?"

"They are traitors," Denna said, in some confusion.

"_Cara _is a traitor," Lord Rahl corrected her gently. "Kahlan is merely doing her duty."

Denna had known Lord Rahl had a weird fixation with the Confessor, but until now she would not have said it had driven him mad.

"My Lord?" she asked.

Lord Rahl watched her in amusement. "Kahlan has spent years opposing me," he pointed out. "It will take some time for her to reclassify D'Hara as her home, rather than an enemy empire. If she were not plotting against me, I would have to assume she didn't care at all."

Denna could only stare in bemusement and increasing indignation. Apparently, the Confessor could do no wrong in Lord Rahl's eyes. But he couldn't deny Cara's betrayal.

"I will send you both to the temple near Deerfork," Lord Rahl said abruptly. He was looking out of the window now, but Denna doubted he was seeing the prosaic courtyard below. "You know what must be done."

Denna saluted, one fist over her heart, and left to make her preparations. She and Cara were going to take a little journey.

* * *

><p>"Why are you doing this?" Taralyn Zorander asked, as she stirred the evening stew.<p>

Sitting at her plain wooden table was a woman who looked exactly like her daughter, but whose eyes gleamed with a nearly wicked sophistication, and who sat in a precisely controlled and ladylike attitude Jennsen had never learned. Technically, Jennsen was a princess, but she didn't have the posture for it.

The witchwoman shrugged elegantly. "I told you. This place is being watched. If Darken Rahl realizes Jennsen is gone, he may guess our plan. And I can't return to Agaden Reach while the Mord'Sith search for me. A simple glamour solves both problems."

"It's just—" Taralyn swallowed tears, "I can't bear the thought that she'll be taken from me, too. She's so young…"

"Zeddicus will protect her," Shota said coolly. "If you must worry, worry for Kahlan Amnell. Rahl will be furious when he discovers the Seeker lives, and she is wholly in his power."

* * *

><p>Richard could not believe what he was hearing. "Father, you can't be serious!" he exclaimed, laughing despite his indignation. "You don't really believe I have some kind of destiny to kill someone named Darken Rahl, do you? Darken Rahl—what a name! This sounds like a fairy tale!"<p>

"Son," George Cypher said heavily, "I'm afraid it's all too true. From the day Zedd gave you to your mother and me, we knew you were destined for great things."

"Great things?" Richard asked scathingly. "Killing someone? I don't think so."

He stormed out of the room, where his father and Zedd and the red-haired girl he'd never seen before but had introduced herself as his sister were all giving one another grave looks. No doubt they couldn't wait to begin discussing him _in_ _absentia_…

His father and Zedd had both lied to him his entire life. Richard was furious, and deeply hurt. Apparently, he was adopted. Apparently, Zedd was his grandfather and the redhead was his sister. Apparently, Darken Rahl was 'a fiend in human flesh, the greatest tyrant the world has ever seen, evil blacker than the Keeper's heart.' Apparently, Richard was something called a 'Seeker.'

There was really only one conclusion—the people Richard loved most in the world had all lost their minds.

"Richard." It was the redhead—Jennsen. She'd followed him out here.

Richard didn't bother acknowledging her presence with more than a brief wave, before returning to his brooding. She knew nothing about him, after all. A total stranger. She could not be his sister.

"I know you think all this is nonsense," she said, "and I agree. If Darken Rahl is a fiend in human flesh, I'm the Queen of Tamarang. But that doesn't mean he isn't evil. For years, Kahlan Amnell—she's a Confessor, that's sort of like royalty's royalty in the Midlands—fought Rahl for her people's freedom. And when she lost, he imprisoned her in his Palace; he's going to force her to marry him."

Richard turned around, staring at Jennsen. "That's horrible!" For the first time, the thought that Darken Rahl might actually be a real villain and not something Zedd had made up occurred to Richard.

Further, the image of Kahlan Amnell, trapped and alone and facing a fate worse than death, inspired Richard with new determination. He had to rescue her, and if that meant being named the Seeker…

"Okay," he said slowly. "I'll do it."

* * *

><p>"I don't see anything," Cara said, stepping forward. The outskirts of Deerfork were deserted. There was no rebel meeting.<p>

Which was hardly surprising—no doubt there would be another rebel meeting eventually, but the Resistance had recently suffered a crushing defeat, and probably all those idiotic enough to organize a meeting when a group of Mord'Sith had just entered the neighborhood were already dead.

That should have been Cara's first warning that there was something wrong.

Her second was when someone knocked her to the ground and grabbed her braid.

She tried to twist upward, but Denna (of course, it would be Denna), had her knee on the center of Cara's back.

"Traitor," she said coolly, and drew a knife.

Cara was at a loss to know what she was supposed to have done—not that it mattered. Denna had been looking for an excuse to challenge her for years.

Still, it did hurt when Denna cut off Cara's braid. She missed the hair immediately—it hadn't even been trimmed in years, the weight of it was familiar and the corresponding status crucial—

Lord Rahl must believe she _was_a traitor. Denna would never dare cut off her braid otherwise.

Cara's last thought, before Denna's agiel touched the back of her neck and she slumped, unconscious, was one of regret that she hadn't had time to say farewell to Kahlan.

* * *

><p>"Will you accept the name of Seeker?"<p>

"I will."

A ring of fire, a Sword raised in defiance, and hard eyes set in a youthful and familiar face. Darken might never have seen the brother whose death he had ordered upon his ascension to the throne of D'Hara, but the boy had their father's jaw.

Darken's scream was one of pure fury, tearing out of his throat before he was awake.

Then a moment of disorientation, because he hadn't meant to fall asleep in Kahlan's rooms, and she was sitting up beside him, hair falling in a dark cloud over her pale shoulders, frowning.

"What?" she demanded peevishly. "Not content with holding me prisoner, now you must disturb my rest?"

But Darken ignored her. He couldn't waste time on relief that she hadn't tried to kill him in his sleep, although that probably would have woken him—something much more important than his games with her or their approaching marriage was happening.

Guards rushed in, lamplight spilling like fire into the room—Kahlan drew the blankets more securely over her chest—"My Lord, what is it? Is everything—?"

Darken barely heard. He felt as though someone had just walked over his grave. In a way, it was true.

The prophecy—he'd thought he had averted it, years ago. He had achieved so much throughout his reign—and now this. Blank panic held him speechless for a moment.

At the guards' repeated pleas for orders, and threatening moves toward Kahlan as the only threat currently in the room, however, Darken made himself reply.

"The Seeker lives," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Kahlan gasped—the Seeker couldn't be alive, it couldn't be true—could it? If it were, hope was not lost. It made her dizzy to think she might still escape Rahl, when she had given it up as impossible.<p>

Everything she'd done, even reaching out to Cara, had been in an effort to make this life easier, to make her sacrifices not in vain. She was no longer sure what she would do with her freedom, if she obtained it…

"You must be thrilled," Rahl hissed at her. "Get out."

Kahlan held his eyes for a moment, just to show him she wasn't intimidated, and then pulled on a dressing gown and left without a second glance.

No doubt he would remember eventually that they'd been in _her_rooms, but in the meantime, perhaps she might find Cara.

Kahlan needed someone to talk to, because everything had changed.

She needed to talk to _Cara._


	3. Why Make It Easier on Me

**Characters**: (in order of appearance) Kahlan, Mother Confessor Serena, Darken, Cara, Denna, Jennsen, Shota, Richard, Zedd  
><strong>Pairings<strong>: Cara/Kahlan, Darken/Kahlan (implied Darken/Denna, Darken/Cara and Richard/Kahlan, in a way)

**Warnings**: torture, character death, dub con (and cruelty to an innocent river ;D)  
><strong>Summary<strong>: In an AU inspired by this amazing vid (/watch?v=oRbWKQrZeAM) only child!Kahlan is tired of waiting for the Seeker to rescue the Midlands. But when Darken Rahl takes her prisoner, she must decide whether he and his people are really as evil as she's always believed. Cara has never had cause to question her loyalty to the House of Rahl - until she meets the Confessor Kahlan Amnell. And Darken, victorious, has nothing to fear but the Seeker, and everyone knows he's dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Why Make It Easier On Me<strong>

Thirst, aching muscles, arms almost pulled from their sockets, toes that couldn't reach the floor…

_Kahlan. Kahlan's smile. Kahlan's lips…_

"You are a fool, Cara. Do you think you can escape the pain?" Denna asked, her eyes hard. She stood before Cara, below where she hung in her chains…taking a brief rest to admire the cuts and bruises she'd inflicted.

Professional detachment was the first thing to go at a time like this, but nonetheless, Cara could admire her Sister's technique. Denna had always been an expert at breaking people.

But she couldn't reach Cara. Not anymore.

_Kahlan…_

Cara had never before considered herself a fool for love, but Kahlan swept her off her feet without, as far as Cara could tell, even trying.

"Kahlan Amnell will never care for you," Denna said harshly, apparently following Cara's thoughts.

In spite of herself, Cara felt a sliver of doubt. It was certainly true that Kahlan was an enemy—by rights, friendship between her and Cara was impossible, let alone more.

And Cara knew that Kahlan was trying so hard to survive, it would be a miracle if she had the strength left to care for anyone besides herself. She knew what that was like.

The easiest thing for Cara to do would be to give in…it would take time to work her way back up the hierarchy after this (and her shorn hair would not help), but it wouldn't be impossible—and there was no reason to let Denna have it all her own way with Lord Rahl.

Denna stalked forward again, tracing a line of fire with her agiel from Cara's neck to her stomach…yet the touch was almost gentle. And then Denna looked up, a question in her cold eyes.

It went against everything she'd ever believed, everything she'd ever been taught…but Cara could not bring herself to admit that loving Kahlan was wrong.

She set her jaw defiantly.

Denna's smirk twisted, as though she were sucking on a lemon. "Fine," she said. "Have it your way."

Cara closed her eyes, as Denna struck her hard enough to make her swing in her chains.

_Kahlan…_

* * *

><p>"Where's Cara?" Kahlan asked.<p>

"Mmm?" Rahl wasn't even listening to her.

Kahlan's teeth clenched, even as she recognized that she might not have had the courage to ask so forthrightly after Cara if he had been attending.

Jerkily, she continued skinning the peach with the table-knife; the utensil was actually made of gold, which Kahlan considered a shocking extravagance.

Cara was not here, and as much as Kahlan was aware that Cara, as a Mord'Sith, undoubtedly had legitimate duties that might take her from the Palace, the vague ideas of what those duties might be currently plaguing her were not the sort to reconcile her to Cara's absence.

She could not have explained why it mattered so much, except that Cara was the only person in D'Hara—and possibly the only person ever—who had looked at Kahlan and seen the woman, not the Confessor. To her people she was an awe-inspiring figure, commanding respect and fear, a symbol of justice; to Rahl, she was a prize, a symbol of victory.

Kahlan was starting to get tired of being a symbol.

She did not dare suggest her planned reforms in the legal system to Rahl at present; it was a mark of how reconciled she was becoming to this life that was no longer her own that she felt some apprehension about the Seeker herself. On the one hand, she could hardly wish for him to fail; on the other, she was afraid for Cara, who might have to fight him, and there was even some fear for Rahl in her heart.

She hated him—but he was such a presence in her life now that it was hard to imagine him out of it

If only she knew where Cara was…

"Oh!" Kahlan had not been paying sufficient attention to the task at hand; the knife had slipped, cutting deeply into her thumb.

Her cry had been soft, but this Rahl heard.

He looked up from his coffee and the open journeybook in front of him, and frowned.

"Don't get all excited," Kahlan said crossly. "I'm fine."

Rahl raised his eyebrows.

Kahlan's thumb bled over her peach.

Rahl reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, monogrammed with his initials and the Rahl crest; he leaned forward across the table and wrapped her thumb in the white cloth.

Instantly, her blood soaked in, turning the handkerchief as red as everything else in D'Hara…as red as Cara's leathers.

Kahlan swallowed.

She looked up at Rahl, wondering if this sign of solicitude were enough to trust him with her fears…wondering if now were the moment to tell him she carried his child.

Their wedding was two weeks away, always assuming the Seeker didn't make an unscheduled appearance.

But Kahlan felt herself waiting for some more settled time—and knew she would not feel safe until she saw Cara again.

But surely that was ridiculous—she could never be safe in D'Hara, unwilling Queen or not.

* * *

><p>Dahlia had found and killed the last of the remaining Confessors—apparently they'd taken refuge on the island of Valeria. Also, Darken had found one of the fabled Boxes of Orden in the Palace's over-crowded attics, and had at least some idea where to find a second. So at least some of the news was good.<p>

Darken had people looking for the Seeker, a bounty placed on his head…he couldn't help wishing he hadn't been so quick to send Denna and Cara away—they were surely the most accomplished of his Mord'Sith.

But he was forgetting—Cara had betrayed him.

His lips tightened, and then Kahlan gasped; he looked up and saw she'd managed to cut herself with the table-knife. At any other time, he would have paid more attention to this, since Kahlan was a Confessor and therefore must be used to handling much sharper blades than this one—how could she be so careless?

In fact, it might be a good idea to keep all such weapons out of her hands, at least until the threat of the Seeker had been dealt with.

He captured her thumb with his handkerchief, applying pressure to the wound, and waited. It was only a small injury, really; when Kahlan's thumb stopped bleeding, Darken removed the handkerchief, crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket, and rose.

He couldn't face breakfast with Kahlan at the moment; someday he would turn her frowns to smiles, but he didn't have time for her now.

Besides, there was always the chance that she would try to help the Seeker.

"Are you finished?" he asked abruptly.

Kahlan, still looking pale, nodded.

Darken pulled her easily to her feet; she was docile in his grasp.

He swept her upstairs to her rooms, collecting her guards on the way, and paused at the door.

"I'm afraid I can no longer allow you the freedom of my Palace," Darken said, with an attempt at his usual politeness. "I must request that you remain in your rooms, where you'll be safe."

Kahlan raised her eyebrows. "Safe? I'm flattered by your concern," she said drily.

Darken smiled, in brief appreciation of her wit. She was certainly an enchanting distraction. "Anything for you, my Queen," he said, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

Kahlan gave him an unreadable look, before disappearing into her rooms. Darken gave her guards their orders, and returned reluctantly to his most pressing task—finding the Seeker and averting the prophecy.

* * *

><p>Jennsen was starting to regret telling Richard of the tragic fate of Kahlan Amnell. The subject so obsessed his mind that he was now the driving force behind their progress through the Midlands.<p>

Jennsen, Zedd and Richard had made their way back through the invisible (to Jennsen) Boundary, with the help of Adie the Bone Lady, and now all they had to do was find Rahl.

Jennsen was fairly sure Kahlan Amnell would be at the People's Palace in the capitol of D'Hara, but there was no guarantee that was where Rahl would be—his movements through his empire were largely secret, and almost impossible to trace.

Richard cared nothing for this.

"We have to rescue Kahlan," was his constant refrain; and only Zedd could distract him from his new obsession, and only to practice with the Sword of Truth.

Jennsen was no warrior, but she could tell he was getting very good; certainly they had escaped capture at the hands of the D'Haran soldiers many times already.

The Resistance had been badly damaged by Kahlan Amnell's unsuccessful campaign, but there were still those who would aid the Seeker, thank the Creator.

The three of them were smuggled into the capitol in a cart full of cabbages. Jennsen made fast friends with their host, a member of the local Resistance who'd been lying low for the past several weeks, since the Battle of the Whispering Ford.

"Can you get us into the Palace?" Richard wanted to know.

"Impossible," their host said regretfully. "It's protected by fearsome magic; and the D'Harans check everyone to make sure they have legitimate business before they let them into the Palace grounds."

But at the mention of fearsome magic, Zedd gave Jennsen a significant look; she knew he'd been quite impressed with her ability to get through the Boundary without apparent effort, although she had explained to him that to her it was no more than a blank expanse of ground, woods gradually fading to sand.

She sighed. It looked like she'd have to sneak into the People's Palace, disable the magic somehow, and get Richard and Zedd in…unless they could pretend to have some sort of legitimate business? She doubted 'to assassinate Darken Rahl' would find favor with the D'Haran soldiers.

* * *

><p>There were a thousand ways it could not have happened. Darken could have summoned Dahlia or Triana to his side, instead of going directly to his study for a bit of peace and quiet; his guards could have been actually competent; the Seeker could have taken more than a record ten days to traverse the distance from Westland to the capitol of D'Hara (a feat which should have been impossible)…<p>

But no. Darken opened the door and the Seeker was waiting for him.

Reflexes honed by twenty years of navigating D'Haran politics came to his aid, and he drew his sword.

"Monster!" the Seeker cried, wasting his breath; Darken cared nothing for his opinion.

The Seeker made up with sheer power and passion what he lacked in finesse; chairs and a priceless Eldorian screen went flying as they fought.

Darken didn't waste time wondering how the Seeker had gotten into the Palace; he was a Rahl, and the wards were not equipped to keep out one of the family, no matter how much Darken wished blood magic had not been quite so popular with his ancestors.

It was too soon, Keeper curse the Seeker, the Wizard, and the Resistance; if only Darken had more time, he could get the other two Boxes of Orden and there would be no need for him to fight the Seeker at all.

It was a tiny mistake that tripped Darken up; something so small it seemed impossible it could matter. The fading sunlight slanted in through the stained glass window and blinded him momentarily.

The next instant, the Seeker had wrenched the sword from Darken's grasp, sending it clattering to the floor, and the Sword of Truth was at his throat.

Darken looked into those dark eyes and thought he saw every hurt, every adolescent pang, every resentment—

Couldn't the boy at least have given Darken a chance to prove he only wanted peace?

"Killing an unarmed man?" Darken asked bitterly. "You are just like our father."

The Seeker looked bewildered, but it was obvious that he'd never formed the habit of rapid rational thought; he pulled the Sword back and struck, and Darken was left to ponder the inevitability of prophecy as he lay bleeding on the floor.  
>He was prey to bitter fury and unsettling fear, and an irrational irritation that the Seeker had not stayed to watch him die.<p>

Darken's last thought was of Kahlan.

* * *

><p>Richard had come prepared to rescue a princess in a tower; and he meant to do so, even if, as Jennsen repeatedly told him, Kahlan Amnell was not precisely a princess.<p>

His ambition was further checked by the discovery that she was not residing in any tower; the People's Palace might be liberally provided with them, but most were falling to ruin and therefore unusable, and in any case, the greatest concentration of guards were in quite an ordinary upper corridor.

Richard scarcely paid any heed to them, fighting when he had to—he'd found several keys on Darken Rahl's person, and one at least must open Kahlan's door. The guards were nothing, after he had slain their master.

Nor did Richard have any idea where Zedd and Jennsen were—he supposed them to be letting in the Resistance, unwillingly gathered outside the gates.

His every thought was concentrated on Kahlan Amnell. Richard could not let himself leave her in terrible suspense for longer than absolutely necessary.

In the event, he didn't bother unlocking the door. A sufficiently hard tap with the hilt of the Sword of Truth rendered the lock utterly useless, but this, Richard felt, was surely an advantage. No one could want to be trapped here for long.

"I'm here to rescue you!" he said, while still on the threshold. "Don't worry—I'm Richard Cypher, I'm the Seeker."

The woman who looked up from her embroidery at his entrance was even more beautiful than Richard could have imagined. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back, her chest rose in a quick breath and strained her bodice laces, her eyes were cool blue, her face more perfect than ancient drawings of the Creator.

She rose, her skirts falling in elegant waves around her ankles, and held out one shapely hand. "I am the Confessor Kahlan Amnell," she said calmly. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

><p>The Seeker was so young—a mere boy! It seemed incredible that he should have been successful.<p>

And yet here he was, babbling on excitedly, "I've killed that horrible tyrant—you'll never be in his power again!"

He paused here, as if expecting congratulations; Kahlan raised her eyebrows. "Unless you aspire to take his place, I must request you give me that key," she said, pointing to the one that obviously corresponded to her Rada'Han.

The Seeker, who begged her to call him Richard, looked blank for a moment, but then handed it over.

Kahlan couldn't reach, and he was obliged to help her; she swept her hair over one shoulder and bent her head, trying to be patient.

Her own feelings were as yet far too turbulent to permit her peace of mind, and the most overpowering emotion she felt was surprise. She had never expected Rahl to be defeated, prophecy or no prophecy, much less so soon; and she reflected wryly that Rahl had doubtless shared her stupefaction.

"So now that I've rescued you, you can come back to Westland with me and Zedd and Jennsen," the Seeker prattled on. "You'll be safe there, away from this awful place—"

At last, the Rada'Han clicked open, and fell to the floor. The relief was so great that for a moment it was all Kahlan could do not to let loose with her power; she stood swaying, eyes tightly shut, determined not to repay the Seeker's kindness by Confessing him.

And yet his naïve conviction that all it would take for her to fall into his arms and weep in relief on his shoulder was for him to save her from, as he was now so passionately phrasing it, 'a fate worse than death,' could not help irritating her.

She turned toward him, saying merely, "You didn't save me. She did."

Cara—how could she not have thought of her first? Kahlan bent distractedly to pick up the Rada'Han, but the Seeker was before her—

"I'll have this melted down," he said passionately. "No one should be imprisoned that way."

Kahlan stared at him for a moment, but she wasn't really seeing him…she felt twice as lost as she had when Rahl had taken her prisoner, because then she had been powerless. The return of her choices meant the return of her responsibilities, and while she could hardly wish it otherwise, she was in no mood for the Seeker at present.  
>"Wait—who's 'she'?" he was asking.<p>

Kahlan left the room as regally as the Queen she would never be, now that Darken Rahl was dead.

* * *

><p>Cara's entire body felt as though she'd been beaten—which she had. Her head ached, a dozen cuts stung and bruises throbbed all over her, her tongue felt thick and dry, and her toes were cold.<p>

So she was alive.

She opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor of the training room, and she was alone.

In a heap on the floor were her leathers, her agiels crossed like tiny twin swords on top of the pile. On her other side were the chains, left unlocked.

The choice was plain, and typically Mord'Sith; either she accepted Denna's dominance, got dressed, and returned to her duties, or she must hang herself back in the chains and continue to receive her punishment.

Cara rolled her eyes, and with difficulty got to her feet.

Something in the air was different…she was conscious of it immediately, and searched through every sense for the cause. Yet there was nothing to see, hear, or smell that could account for her feeling of being so utterly off-balance.

Without thinking, she pulled her leathers on, shoving her feet into her boots and picking up her agiels. Their humming was subtly altered, and she suspected sabotage before her wits caught up with her.

It was the Bond. Something had happened to Lord Rahl.

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Seeker! You don't know what this means to us!" People were congratulating the Seeker everywhere; he and his companions were the center of an admiring crowd.<p>

Kahlan circulated among the Resistance, finding and greeting those members of her army who had elected to aid the Seeker.

But her heart wasn't in it.

Across the moat, they were burning the Palace; Kahlan had no doubt it had been the Seeker's idea. She was contemptuous—the Palace was made mostly of stone, and thus would hardly burn well.

Although there were one or two rather pretty wooden rooms she would be sorry to see destroyed—but such sentiment was ludicrous. How could she mourn her prison?

She sighed, one hand going absently to her still flat stomach, thinking of the life that grew there…what sort of world would her daughter be born into?

"You seem troubled, Confessor." It was the First Wizard, withdrawing from the crowd to stand beside her.

Kahlan shook her head. "I am a fool," she whispered, thinking of Cara. Those had been almost the Mord'Sith's first words to her. And now she had no idea where Cara was.

Impossible, that she could care so much for someone who she had been raised to believe an enemy…and yet Kahlan was a good judge of people. It would have been easy enough to succumb to Rahl's half-truths and offer of a life of Palace intrigue, that false affection and overpowering magnetism, every day a pitched battle for her principles, if not her life…but Cara had shown Kahlan what she could have—real affection, and more, mutual trust. It might be based merely on intuition and the glow of sexual attraction, but it was real, and Cara had a good heart. That much Kahlan was sure of.

When she had told the Seeker Cara was the one who had saved her, she had spoken no less than the truth.

"Someone back home?" the Wizard asked wisely. "Or out there?"

"Out there," Kahlan replied. "I think…I hope."

That night, Kahlan curled in the bedroll Richard obtained for her, staring at the stars, and wondering whether Cara were looking at them, too.

"So have you thought about what you're going to do now?" the Seeker asked diffidently, intruding upon Kahlan's abstraction. "You could come with me—with us. You'd be welcome."

Kahlan glared at him. "If you wanted a more tangible demonstration of my gratitude, I wonder you removed my Rada'Han at all," she said waspishly, and was instantly sorry.

The Seeker resembled nothing so much as a kicked puppy, and he seemed quite at a loss to understand Kahlan's meaning.

Obviously, she had been in the People's Palace too long.

Kahlan relented. "I'm going home."

There was nothing else to be done. She had no idea where Cara was, and no idea whether Cara would care about Kahlan Amnell, pregnant Confessor, no matter how interested she'd been in Kahlan Amnell, future Queen of D'Hara.

* * *

><p>Kahlan left the next morning, despite all Richard could do to dissuade her. He really believed it to be dangerous for her to travel alone, since Rahl must have supporters unhappy about his death (Kahlan had actually brightened at this, although Richard couldn't imagine why), and there were always bandits, or simply people who didn't like Confessors.<p>

Richard was still not precisely sure he understood what a Confessor was, but it was obvious that the members of the Resistance held her in both awe and fear.

He was just going to suggest to Zedd that they accompany Kahlan back to Aydindril, just to be sure, when an entire battalion of D'Harans rode up to the Resistance camp.

Grimly, Richard put a hand to his Sword hilt; he was sure this could betoken nothing good.

He'd already been forced to kill most of the guards remaining in the Palace, and he could only hope all the members of the Resistance had gotten out before they started the fire. Furthermore, Rahl's body had apparently disappeared—but Richard didn't set much store by this. Probably someone had dropped him in the moat or something, during all the confusion.

The D'Harans were kneeling, not drawing their weapons. Richard stared.

"Master Rahl guide us," they began, with one voice. "Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours."

Richard stared in total bewilderment.

The leader of the D'Harans rose, his fist still over his heart. "Lord Rahl," he said. "We are yours to command."

At last, Richard found his voice. _"What?"_

* * *

><p>"Cara," Denna said smoothly, her voice like liquid butter. "I am delighted you've recovered your senses."<p>

"That I have," Cara agreed cordially, and without warning she struck.

Denna was unprepared for the attack, and Cara pressed her advantage, tripping Denna and yanking her back by her braid to press her agiel against her Sister's heart.

It was a useless gesture to kill Denna, since they were in Jandrilyn, a temple full of Mord'Sith, but it relieved Cara's feelings a little.

She tossed her shorn hair back and stood.

Her every thought, since she had registered the slight shift in the Bond, had been of Kahlan's probable predicament.

Of course, it might indeed be Cara's duty to either help Lord Rahl, or avenge him if he were beyond help, but she cared little for that. She had served him faithfully for years, and he still believed her capable of betraying him.

She couldn't deny that she'd fallen in love with his betrothed, but she defied anyone to have failed to do so, in her place. And she couldn't see how that constituted a betrayal, anyway.

What she did now was perilously close to treason, however.

Cara escaped the temple easily, leaving her Sisters to revive Denna, or not, as they chose. Denna was of sufficiently high rank that they probably wouldn't dare leave her for dead, which was a pity.

Then she ran.

Kahlan would still be at or near the Palace, depending on what had happened; she must be rescued from whatever had harmed Lord Rahl.

And if Lord Rahl were still the only threat to Kahlan's safety…but Cara refused to think of the bewildering shift in her loyalties.

She ran until she was out of breath, then dropped into a reluctant walk, ignoring her protesting muscles. It wasn't the first time Cara had received 'retraining' at the hands of her Sisters, though it had never been as serious or as lengthy as this.

It wasn't until Cara reached the top of a small hill, glanced down and saw Kahlan climbing up the slope, that she remembered what she had thought back in the temple…she had fallen in love with Lord Rahl's betrothed. With Kahlan.

Without her conscious volition, her lips curved into a smile, and she held out a hand to help Kahlan onto the path.

It seemed impossible that Cara should have found Kahlan so quickly, and if it hadn't been for the obvious pleasure the other woman felt in the reunion, she would have been able to muster up the proper shame for her feelings—Mord'Sith did not love anyone but Lord Rahl.

As it was, however, Cara could only be glad Kahlan was safe. It would have to be enough.

* * *

><p>Kahlan looked up, and into Cara's bright green eyes, and then Cara was smiling, and it was all Kahlan could do to scramble up onto the path without stumbling in her relief.<p>

"I was afraid I'd never see you again," she said, when they stood facing one another. She had yet to let go of Cara's hand.

Cara looked injured, and Kahlan reached out, tracing a nasty cut on Cara's cheek…

"What happened? Where's Lord Rahl? How did you get here? Are you all right?" Cara asked quickly, but Kahlan didn't answer.

She dug her fingers into Cara's newly short hair and pulled her into a passionate kiss, trying to convey what she felt without words.

There would be time enough to explain later. To tell Cara everything, from Darken Rahl's death to the Seeker's importunities to Kahlan's pregnancy….the chaos into which the Midlands, recently conquered and now at least nominally freed, would be plunged, Kahlan's duty to guide her people…

And the impossible fact that Cara was here, with Kahlan, and they were both free at last.

"All my life, I've been alone," Kahlan said, pulling away just far enough to stare into Cara's eyes. "Then I found you."

Cara laughed shakily, and Kahlan brushed a tear from her cheek, raising her finger to her lips and tasting it. On the whole, she preferred Cara's smiles—but her tears were beautiful too.

Cara ran hesitant hands through Kahlan's hair, gazing at her as if she were something precious. "Likewise," she whispered.


End file.
